还乡The Return Of The Native-第15节

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d　women　were　visible　essences；　you　could　fancy　the　colour　of　Eustacia’s　soul　to　be　flamelike。　　The　sparks　from　it　that　rose　into　her　dark　pupils　gave　the　same　impression。　
The　mouth　seemed　formed　less　to　speak　than　to　quiver；　less　to　quiver　than　to　kiss。　　Some　might　have　added；　less　to　kiss　than　to　curl。　　Viewed　sideways；　the　closing…line　of　her　lips　formed；　with　almost　geometric　precision；　the　curve　so　well　known　in　the　arts　of　design　as　the　cima…recta；　or　ogee。　　The　sight　of　such　a　flexible　bend　as　that　on　grim　Egdon　was　quite　an　apparition。　　It　was　felt　at　once　that　the　mouth　did　not　e　over　from　Sleswig　with　a　band　of　Saxon　pirates　whose　lips　met　like　the　two　halves　of　a　muffin。　　One　had　fancied　that　such　lip…curves　were　mostly　lurking　underground　in　the　South　as　fragments　of　forgotten　marbles。　　So　fine　were　the　lines　of　her　lips　that；　though　full；　each　corner　of　her　mouth　was　as　clearly　cut　as　the　point　of　a　spear。　　This　keenness　of　corner　was　only　blunted　when　she　was　given　over　to　sudden　fits　of　gloom；　one　of　the　phases　of　the　night…side　of　sentiment　which　she　knew　too　well　for　her　years。
Her　presence　brought　memories　of　such　things　as　Bourbon　roses；　rubies；　and　tropical　midnight；　her　moods　recalled　lotus…eaters　and　the　march　in　Athalie；　her　motions；　the　ebb　and　flow　of　the　sea；　her　voice；　the　viola。　　In　a　dim　light；　and　with　a　slight　rearrangement　of　her　hair；　her　general　figure　might　have　stood　for　that　of　either　of　the　higher　female　deities。　　The　new　moon　behind　her　head；　an　old　helmet　upon　it；　a　diadem　of　accidental　dewdrops　round　her　brow；　would　have　been　adjuncts　sufficient　to　strike　the　note　of　Artemis；　Athena；　or　Hera　respectively；　with　as　close　an　approximation　to　the　antique　as　that　which　passes　muster　on　many　respected　canvases。　
But　celestial　imperiousness；　love；　wrath；　and　fervour　had　proved　to　be　somewhat　thrown　away　on　netherward　Egdon。　　Her　power　was　limited；　and　the　consciousness　of　this　limitation　had　biassed　her　development。　　Egdon　was　her　Hades；　and　since　ing　there　she　had　imbibed　much　of　what　was　dark　in　its　tone；　though　inwardly　and　eternally　unreconciled　thereto。　　Her　appearance　accorded　well　with　this　smouldering　rebelliousness；　and　the　shady　splendour　of　her　beauty　was　the　real　surface　of　the　sad　and　stifled　warmth　within　her。　　A　true　Tartarean　dignity　sat　upon　her　brow；　and　not　factitiously　or　with　marks　of　constraint；　for　it　had　grown　in　her　with　years。　
Across　the　upper　part　of　her　head　she　wore　a　thin　fillet　of　black　velvet；　restraining　the　luxuriance　of　her　shady　hair；　in　a　way　which　added　much　to　this　class　of　majesty　by　irregularly　clouding　her　forehead。　　“Nothing　can　embellish　a　beautiful　face　more　than　a　narrow　band　drawn　over　the　brow；”　says　Richter。　　Some　of　the　neighbouring　girls　wore　coloured　ribbon　for　the　same　purpose；　and　sported　metallic　ornaments　elsewhere；　but　if　anyone　suggested　coloured　ribbon　and　metallic　ornaments　to　Eustacia　Vye　she　laughed　and　went　on。　
Why　did　a　woman　of　this　sort　live　on　Egdon　Heath？　　Budmouth　was　her　native　place；　a　fashionable　seaside　resort　at　that　date。　　She　was　the　daughter　of　the　bandmaster　of　a　regiment　which　had　been　quartered　there—a　Corfiote　by　birth；　and　a　fine　musician—who　met　his　future　wife　during　her　trip　thither　with　her　father　the　captain；　a　man　of　good　family。　　The　marriage　was　scarcely　in　accord　with　the　old　man’s　wishes；　for　the　bandmaster’s　pockets　were　as　light　as　his　occupation。　　But　the　musician　did　his　best；　adopted　his　wife’s　name；　made　England　permanently　his　home；　took　great　trouble　with　his　child’s　education；　the　expenses　of　which　were　defrayed　by　the　grandfather；　and　throve　as　the　chief　local　musician　till　her　mother’s　death；　when　he　left　off　thriving；　drank；　and　died　also。　　The　girl　was　left　to　the　care　of　her　grandfather；　who；　since　three　of　his　ribs　became　broken　in　a　shipwreck；　had　lived　in　this　airy　perch　on　Egdon；　a　spot　which　had　taken　his　fancy　because　the　house　was　to　be　had　for　next　to　nothing；　and　because　a　remote　blue　tinge　on　the　horizon　between　the　hills；　visible　from　the　cottage　door；　was　traditionally　believed　to　be　the　English　Channel。　　She　hated　the　change；　she　felt　like　one　banished；　but　here　she　was　forced　to　abide。　
Thus　it　happened　that　in　Eustacia’s　brain　were　juxtaposed　the　strangest　assortment　of　ideas；　from　old　time　and　from　new。　　There　was　no　middle　distance　in　her　perspective—romantic　recollections　of　sunny　afternoons　on　an　esplanade；　with　military　bands；　officers；　and　gallants　around；　stood　like　gilded　letters　upon　the　dark　tablet　of　surrounding　Egdon。　　Every　bizarre　effect　that　could　result　from　the　random　intertwining　of　watering…place　glitter　with　the　grand　solemnity　of　a　heath；　was　to　be　found　in　her。　　Seeing　nothing　of　human　life　now；　she　imagined　all　the　more　of　what　she　had　seen。　
Where　did　her　dignity　e　from？　　By　a　latent　vein　from　Alcinous’　line；　her　father　hailing　from　Phaeacia’s　isle？or　from　Fitzalan　and　De　Vere；　her　maternal　grandfather　having　had　a　cousin　in　the　peerage？　　Perhaps　it　was　the　gift　of　Heaven—a　happy　convergence　of　natural　laws。　　Among　other　things　opportunity　had　of　late　years　been　denied　her　of　learning　to　be　undignified；　for　she　lived　lonely。　　Isolation　on　a　heath　renders　vulgarity　well…nigh　impossible。　　It　would　have　been　as　easy　for　the　heath…ponies；　bats；　and　snakes　to　be　vulgar　as　for　her。　　A　narrow　life　in　Budmouth　might　have　pletely　demeaned　her。
The　only　way　to　look　queenly　without　realms　or　hearts　to　queen　it　over　is　to　look　as　if　you　had　lost　them；　and　Eustacia　did　that　to　a　triumph。　　In　the　captain’s　cottage　she　could　suggest　mansions　she　had　never　seen。　　Perhaps　that　was　because　she　frequented　a　vaster　mansion　than　any　of　them；　the　open　hills。　　Like　the　summer　condition　of　the　place　around　her；　she　was　an　embodiment　of　the　phrase　“a　populous　solitude”—apparently　so　listless；　void；　and　quiet；　she　was　really　busy　and　full。　
To　be　loved　to　madness—such　was　her　great　desire。　　Love　was　to　her　the　one　cordial　which　could　drive　away　the　eating　loneliness　of　her　days。　　And　she　seemed　to　long　for　the　abstraction　called　passionate　love　more　than　for　any　particular　lover。　
She　could　show　a　most　reproachful　look　at　times；　but　it　was　directed　less　against　human　beings　than　against　certain　creatures　of　her　mind；　the　chief　of　these　being　Destiny；　through　whose　interference　she　dimly　fancied　it　arose　that　love　alighted　only　on　gliding　youth—that　any　love　she　might　win　would　sink　simultaneously　with　the　sand　in　the　glass。　　She　thought　of　it　with　an　ever…growing　consciousness　of　cruelty；　which　tended　to　breed　actions　of　reckless　unconventionality；　framed　to　snatch　a　year’s；　a　week’s；　even　an　hour’s　passion　from　anywhere　while　it　could　be　won。　　Through　want　of　it　she　had　sung　without　being　merry；　possessed　without　enjoying；　outshone　without　triumphing。　　Her　loneliness　deepened　her　desire。　　On　Egdon；　coldest　and　meanest　kisses　were　at　famine　prices；　and　where　was　a　mouth　matching　hers　to　be　found？
Fidelity　in　love　for　fidelity’s　sake　had　less　attraction　for　her　than　for　most　women；　fidelity　because　of　love’s　grip　had　much。　　A　blaze　of　love；　and　extinction；　was　better　than　a　lantern　glimmer　of　the　same　which　should　last　long　years。　　On　this　head　she　knew　by　prevision　what　most　women　learn　only　by　experience—she　had　mentally　walked　round　love；　told　the　towers　thereof；　considered　its　palaces；　and　concluded　that　love　was　but　a　doleful　joy。　　Yet　she　desired　it；　as　one　in　a　desert　would　be　thankful　for　brackish　water。
She　often　repeated　her　prayers；　not　at　particular　times；　but；　like　the　unaffectedly　devout；　when　she　desired　to　pray。　　Her　prayer　was　always　spontaneous；　and　often　ran　thus；　“O　deliver　my　heart　from　this　fearful　gloom　and　loneliness；　send　me　great　love　from　somewhere；　else　I　shall　die。”
Her　high　gods　were　William　the　Conqueror；　Strafford；　and　Napoleon　Buonaparte；　as　they　had　appeared　in　the　Lady’s　History　used　at　the　establishment　in　which　she　was　educated。　　Had　she　been　a　mother　she　would　have　christened　her　boys　such　names　as　Saul　or　Sisera　in　preference　to　Jacob　or　David；　neither　of　whom　she　admired。　　At　school　she　had　used　to　side　with　the　Philistines　in　several　battles；　and　had　wondered　if　Pontius　Pilate　were　as　handsome　as　he　was　frank　and　fair。　
Thus　she　was　a　girl　of　some　forwardness　of　mind；　indeed；　weighed　in　relation　to　her　situation　among　the　very　rearward　of　thinkers；　very　original。　　Her　instincts　towards　social　non…formity　were　at　the　root　of　this。　　In　the　matter　of　holidays；　her　mood　was　that　of　horses　who；　when　turned　out　to　grass；　enjoy　looking　upon　their　kind　at　work　on　the　highway。　　She　only　valued　rest　to　herself　when　it　came　in　the　midst　of　other　people’s　labour。　　Hence　she　hated　Sundays　when　all　was　at　rest；　and　often　said　they　would　be　the　death　of　her。　　To　see　the　heathmen　in　their　Sunday　condition；　that　is；　with　their　hands　in　their　pockets；　their　boots　newly　oiled；　and　not　laced　up　（a　particularly　Sunday　sign）；　walking　leisurely　among　the　turves　and　furze…faggots　they　had　cut　during　the　week；　and　kicking　them　critically　as　if　their　use　were　unknown；　was　a　fearful　heaviness　to　her。　　To　relieve　the　tedium　of　this　untimely　day　she　would　overhaul　the　cupboards　containing　her　grandfather’s　old　charts　and　other　rub